My Beloved School Bus
A safe space during my adolescence
Dazzling under the golden sun, she was a pretty image in yellow, towering over the antsy schoolchildren as they would wait in line to hunker down in her seats.
During those raging teenage years, she was my safe space — my school bus. I am blessed to have had multiple safe spaces over the years — my parents’ awkward yet warm embraces, the bathroom floor where I have shed many tears, the neighborhood park where my childhood best friend and I would play badminton for hours on end, and so on. From 7th to 10th grade, my school bus cemented herself in my heart as a constant, as I fondly remember her fifteen years later. Time always flew in this bus. Some of my life’s significant memories are buried deep in her cushioned seats, in her light grey curtains (needing a washing or two), and in her glass windows that would hold my secrets forever.
This bus meant so much to me in those formative and confusing years of life.
The main reason for calling this bus my safe space was her children. The 7 girls who were my lifelines who rode the bus with me every day. The best friendships are ones from our childhood — innocuous and wholly authentic. Strangely, the reason we became a close-knit unit was that we all happened to live near each other and were on the same bus route. Added to the fact that there were no teachers or classwork to distract us from our conversations on the bus.
These seven girls were all quirky and unique in their way. There were two girls in grade 11 whom we treated like our elder sisters. One was sweet, soft-spoken, and loving, while the other was crazy, hilarious, and someone we looked up to, for her carefree spirit. Next, there were two girls in grade 10 who would always sit next to each other. One was the funny one who loved to watch drama TV shows and would fill the other in on all the entertainment gossip. The other one would listen intently with her big beautiful brown eyes and later guide the drama watcher on complex math problems or other schoolwork. Then there was our ‘buttercup’, who was in the same grade as me. She was the tough one, a straight shooter with no holds barred and whose hard-hitting advice we all
respected. Followed by my childhood best friend in grade 8. She was as animated and crazy as me, and we would crack up over the silliest things, laughing till our sides ached. Last but not the least, the youngest girl was in grade 7, a quiet thinker who was always deeply engrossed in her books.
After a long day at school, I couldn’t imagine reading more (I am a changed woman now — reading books relaxes me after a long day at work). She would present snippets of knowledge and learnings from her books, and I sat riveted, absorbing every word.
It was the wonderful stone age when the internet had not exploded yet, and none of us carried mobile phones (nor was it allowed in school). We did not text each other, have WhatsApp groups to share memes, or social media to post selfies. We had the best time being in each other’s company, completely undistracted.
We celebrated each other’s wins, consoled when someone was down, engaged in heart-to-heart discussions, and played ridiculously entertaining games that would have us in splits. It was a space free of judgment.
We spoke about our ambitions, movies, and general school affairs. We saw each other during our worst — the mornings of exams, sleep deprived, with bags under our eyes, not knowing if we would survive that day. We would seek advice from the seniors on subjects, books to refer to, and teachers we must watch out for. We were a bunch of crazy girls who lived close to each other.
Throughout my time on this bus, I have collected the best memories, that I carry with me everywhere. There are, however, two core memories lodged deep within the pockets of my heart which helped seal the safe space status of this bus for me.
Core memory 1
I had recently found my footing in the new school. In our first pop quizzes of the year, I performed well. The top scorer in my class at the time was highly insecure of anyone who would come close to her score, let alone beat it. Her insecurity revealed itself as she passed a snide remark within my earshot, “ I thought she (me) was the class joker, did not know she can study well too”. That pinched me hard. I held back tears till I could reach my bus and then go home for the day.
I hid my face behind the curtain, refusing to talk to anyone. In hindsight, I laugh at this memory now, but I was only a 13-year-old. My girls tried their best to comfort me, but I did not listen. Finally, the ‘drama watcher’ cautiously approached me and asked me if something terrible had happened. After a few minutes of coaxing, I opened to her tender tone. She didn’t laugh at the incident or dismiss my feelings and tell me to cheer up. She understood and said, “The bright side is you are the class joker spreading joy, and at the end of the day, you know how to buckle down and work hard as well. You can and must continue to do both!”.
I was grinning from ear to ear. I felt heard and vindicated. Profusely thanked everyone and apologized for being silly. My feelings weren’t silly to them, and that made all the difference.
Core memory 2
It was the day of my poetry recital competition. We had to memorize and recite (along with all expressions and voice modulations we could think of) a 5-minute poem in front of the entire high school. I recited ‘Daddy’s Day’, a heart-wrenching poem about a girl whose dad was no longer with her. Despite the jeering from her classmates, she went up to the front of the class to proudly speak about her dad and celebrate his memory. After my recital, I may have heard one or maybe 2 people applaud. I remember thinking, “Was I that bad? Didn’t I deserve a few pity claps?”. Turns out I won the first prize. I was shocked merely based by the audience’s response.
Elated, I made my way to my bus. I was hailed and greeted with giant bear hugs all around. My girls were proud of me. I told them about how surprised I was with the win, considering I heard crickets after my turn. Then one of my girls explained that people were deeply touched by the poem. She even saw many of her classmates being moved to tears. Hearing that made my heart soar. I might have been congratulated by many friends in school that day, and yet fifteen years later, all I remember are the hugs and words uttered by my girls on that bus. It was the pride in their eyes and true selfless joy in my win that lifted me then and now.
These girls taught me the true meaning of friendship and sisterhood. They showed me how people can hail from different parts of the world, speak different languages, be of different ages, and yet learn how to find common ground and support one another. We were united in caring for each other. We called out bullies on the bus and each other’s bad judgment. Proudly hailed each other’s accomplishments and guided one another. These girls are eternally bound to me through my core memories.
These memories are always within us, waiting to be tapped when we need uplifting. They are ready to make us smile when someone’s words or general life may bog us down. They are ingrained in our minds and can guide how we lead our life. One of my strongest motivations to write is so that I can pen down my small lift-me-up stories and hope that reading them brings the same joy to my reader, reminding them of their own little safe space.
Author Bio: I am an engineer by profession and ventured into writing and publishing articles during the pandemic year, 2020. I aspire to spark joy and take my readers to their happy place through my writing. I hope you will join me on my journey!
